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Dear Ava Leigh,

Today you are ten months old.  (When I tell people, I must say it with a lisp and they exclaim, "TWO MONTHS?" and ogle you in wonder as you sit up and wave at them.  Oh well.  I'll never see them again.  I hope.)

It breaks my heart and fills me with joy both at once.  I always thought that parents were being melodramatic when they yabbered on about how "they grow up so fast" and how they'd "blink, and my baby is eighteen."

Well, I'm here to tell you they were RIGHT. This growing up stuff is for REAL.  

Whyyyyyyyyyy?

Ugh, I need a stuff shot of Ovaltene to get through this entry.

Before I send you on an eye-rolling spree, let me first say that your Daddy and I will do our best to reign in our fears of the world enough to allow you to do things appropriate for your age (and as I'm writing this, I'm having daymares of some punk in a jalopy picking you up for prom).  I just wish you could begin to comprehend the feeling of watching your helpless, needy newborn turn into an assertive little girl with preferences and reactions all her own. 

A part of me thrills to watch you discover how helpless you AREN'T.

For example, if they're a toy or a sock within close proximity to you, I have no doubt you'll roll or reach toward wherever you need to retrieve it from in order to put it in its rightful place -- your mouth.  And while you prefer some of your toys over others, dang, girl, you love a good flappy sock.

It gratifies me to know that all of the rhythmic drumming I've done with (and often on!) you is beginning to pay off in discernible ways; you definitely have a fascination with interesting rhythms.  Bah humbug on Baby Bach, you seem to say; bring on Beyonce and The Black-Eyed Peas!

We've recently discovered that the tune that revs you the most is the theme song to Big Bang Theory (which I accidentally just wrote as "tehroy".  Honey, you  MUST LET MOMMY SLEEP A LITTLE!).  I can watch your expression go from piqued to gleeful as soon as the Barenaked Ladies get to the "the earth began to cool...." section of the song.  As they say here in Grant county, it gets you as stirred up as a stomp-head moccasin (and for those living above the Mason-Dixon, I refer to the snake, not the shoe). You waggle your little red head, you slap your fatty thigh, and sometimes you clap your itty palms.  

All the single babies, all the single babies.....

Which brings me to another thing which signals to me that you're really growing up -- you like to impose yourself on your surrounding environment.  Whether you're kicking your bath water out of the tub or pulling cousin Ana's bib over her face (no, NO!), your curiosity makes the world your playground.  

Something that gives me perspective on how much you've grown up is how you now have expectations toward other people. You express your needs toward me because I'm the one who gets to keep you all day and meet them (for which I will forever be grateful to Daddy, who works so hard to support us).  Then when Daddy walks through the door, you know that he's your playmate and jungle gym.  Aunt JessJess is the one who helps you do your baby flail jump (otherwise known as the ice cream and cake dance).  Pawpaw is the fellow with the yankable beard.  Granny always sits down to show you a book.  You seem to have come to a point where you expect these engagements from each of us and you enjoy them -- unless, of course, you're beyond tired but don't want the fun to end, and you're alternately laughing and boohooing....then it's Mommy to the rescue!

I dig gettin' my cuz buzz on....

 ...but we wear each other out.

I really can't believe that you're sooooo big (which I often say in the same saccharine voice as your Fisher-Price sing-along puppy toy), and sooooo smart.  You've been saying "da-da" for nearly two months, "ma-ma" when you're feeling frisky, "they-they-they" when you're being cheeky, and you like to whisper when other people are lowering their conversational volume, too (which I'm beginning to realize you like to use as bait to draw me closer so you can then blast me with a high-decibel "DAAA!").  I even catch you whispering during church as would any good Baptist.  So far, you seem to comprehend the meaning of "sssshhhh!" in such social situations..... for about thirty seconds at a time.

Your favorite mode of self-expression, though, is the raspberry, which is how most conversations with you end.....

As will this one.

I love you, Sqwoosh!

Mommy